


The Stars Don't Shine Here Anymore

by Devanie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devanie/pseuds/Devanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecilia always craved adventure. She figured that adventure would mean traveling around the world after ungrad. However, her aspirations are rudely interrupted when she is pulled into Thedas by an arrogant mage. Thrust into a dangerous world where she doesn't know the rules, she struggles figure out a way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kitchen Tables

**Author's Note:**

> This follows a loose timeline of all three games, and will contain spoilers for all three. It is mostly canon, with some AU additions.

The kitchen table is the center of everything, the altar of family tradition. It has laid witness to countless meals, birthdays, midnight talks, and other happenings both mundane and special. Currently, it is the arena of a spectacular battle against the root of all evil: homework. Two girls sit at the table, adjacent to each other and leaning over notebooks and scattered pencils. The younger, Ticonderoga pencil in hand, stares in consternation at the workbook below her. The elder one shakes her head, admonishing, “Come on, you know that word. C-A-T. Sound it out.”

The younger screws her eyes in concentration, speaking slowly, “C- aaaah- t....Cat. The cat…”

The elder smiles, patting her sister’s arm. “Good! Very good! And the next one?”

Nodding, the younger girl leans further over the book, long chestnut curls falling over her shoulder. Using her pointer finger to hover over the words, and sticking her tongue between her teeth, she begins to read the assignment out loud. The other girl looks up at the clock on the wall. Half past five. She’d have to go soon. With sigh, she says, “Keep going, I’ll get Mom. I have to get going to Rosie’s.” 

She’s paid no heed as she exits the kitchen. She walks down the hall toward her mother’s room and knocks on the door. At the call of affirmation, she enters the room, closing the door behind her. Her mother sits on the bedroom floor, a mound of laundry surrounding her. Mid fold, she looks up at Cecilia’s entrance. “What’s up, love?”

“Lynn is doing her homework, and Alana is passed out on the couch. I think Ryan is still shut in his room.” she replies, ticking her siblings off on her hand.

Her mother gives her a wan smile. “Thank you, Cecilia.”

“You’re welcome.” Cecilia replies, returning the smile, “I have to get going to Rosie’s,”

“Rosie’s?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Yea. Remember? We’re having a sleepover before we head back to school.”

“Oh, yea. I remember. Well, tell Rosie I said hello and good luck at school.”

“I will!” she bends to kiss her mother’s cheek, then turns to leave the room. She walks through the living room and bounds up the stairs toward her room. Dashing about, she picks up clothes, stuffing them into her purple backpack. In the center of her room, she glances around, looking. Finally, her eyes fall on the object she’d been looking for. Stooping, she picks up the newest book she bought, adding to those that were already there.  _ Rosie will fall asleep way before I do...  _ She walks to the door, hand pausing on the knob.  _ I’m forgetting something. Oh yea…  _ She lunges across her bed and, unplugging her phone charger, adds it to her bag. Nodding, she leaves the room, stopping by the shoe basket at the bottom of the stairs to put on her boots. Once done, she makes her way back to the kitchen, but stops in the living room. Her youngest sibling, Alana, is passed out on the couch, legs sprawled out of the blanket covering her. Shaking her head, Cecilia moves Alana’s chubby legs back on the couch, tucking her in with a quick kiss pressed to her forehead. She continues toward the kitchen and, taking a bottle of water from the fridge, she looks over her sister’s shoulder. After a sip of water, she says, “Good, job, Lynnie. You’re getting a lot better.”

Lynn smiles up at her. “Thanks, Ceci.”

Cecilia leans down and kisses the top of her head before heading out the door. She walks to her car, getting in. Once settled, she starts the engine, puts it in reverse, and backs out of the driveway. A few minutes later, she pulls into town, parking in front of the family owned grocery. Exiting the car, she slings the backpack over her shoulder and locks the door. The grocer, Mr. Klark, stands just outside, adjusting the apple stand in front of the store. With a smile, he waves at her. “Where are you heading, Cecilia?”

Waving, she replies, “Just to the shop, Mr.Klark.”

He tsks, “That delinquent Bal hasn’t been seen in weeks. You should just leave it alone. His father would be rolling in the grave if he knew. He worked his whole life for that shop.”

“I’m sure he’ll come back soon, Mr. Klark.” she replies hopefully.

The grocer snorts. “I doubt it. Well, you should get to it, I don’t wanna to keep you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Klark. Have a good day.” she walks past the grocery, stopping in front of a storefront whose sign proclaims  _ Abbott’s Antiques _ in swooping golden letters. Shuffling through her bag for the key, she takes it and unlocks the door. Once she enters, she is struck by the smell of dust and memories. Wardrobes and curio cabinets of all shapes, sizes and wood cramp the space; small pseudo aisles between them. There are beautifully carved tables holding knick knacks from all ages and places. Cecilia places her bag behind the counter, absently petting the giant Chinese dragon to the right of it as she calls, “Colonel! C’mere kitty! Colonel! Where are you?”

_ Bal should not have gotten a cat. Should have known that  _ I _ would be the one taking care of it.  _ Sighing, she goes behind the counter, opens a cat food can, and scoops it into the dish behind the cashier’s stool.  _ Why does he eat more expensive food than I do? Bal better pay me back.  _ Standing up, she scans the shop; no cat to be seen. She wanders up and down the makeshift aisles, idly searching for the missing feline. A few minutes and a peek into an urn later, Cecilia gives up the search. Returning to the counter, she slips her backpack over her shoulder. She turns toward the door, but stops at a muffled sound coming from the back of the shop. Heading towards the noise, she finds herself in front of a door. Again, a muffled sound emanates from behind it, resembling the cadence of voices. She places a hand on the brass door knob, contemplating.  _ You aren’t allowed back here, Cecilia. Besides, voices,  _ really?  _ You’re delusional.  _ She opens the door. Inside, she’s greeted by an ornate mirror. It stretches from ceiling to floor, the glass held up by bronze tree branches. Spotty clouds smear the glass: the mark of a true antique. Her reflection is distorted, blurring her edges. Cecilia’s eyes leave the mirror, glancing about the rest of the room. The walls are shelves with a collection of dusty books and odd artifacts. Cobwebs claim corners. Bewildered, she turns to go. At that moment, she hears, “No, no, no. That can’t possibly be right.”

A man’s voice, young and righteous. A wiser, patient voice responds, “It’s what the texts say.”

“Texts  _ you  _ translated! You could be wrong.” The young man is impatient.

“Then by all means, Dorian, _ you _ do it.” There’s a weary tint to the wise voice. 

The younger assumes a pompous air. “I’d thought you’d never ask! Lu…”

A blast of light blinds Cecilia, and Dorian’s words are lost. There’s a horrible twist in her stomach, reminding her of the time she jumped off a cliff in California. It begins with a sudden intake of breath, then the lack of ground beneath her feet. She feels weightless for mere seconds, gravity can’t touch her. Her stomach flies to meet her heart and her feet cut the water. But there is no water. There was no cliff. No sight, no sound but the sharp staccato of her heartbeat that she feels even in her fingertips.Finally, the world reasserts itself; she’s on the ground.  _ Did I fall?  _ A fall wouldn’t have felt like that. The ringing in her head stops and she looks up into light.  _ There weren’t any lights in the room… _ Her eyes dart back and forth, stopping as they’re drawn by movement to her left. Into her line of sight falls a young man, head tilted inquisitively. He asks, “Are you alright?”

She stares in shock. Shaking his head- _Dorian_ - her mind supplies, he turns to the man behind him. “I wasn’t expecting _that_ to happen.”

The older man furrows his brow, stating grimly, “No, I don’t think you were.”

With that, Cecilia promptly falls unconscious. 

 

When she wakes, there’s a weight on her chest. She tries to breath, but it’s shallow. Opening her eyes, she looks down at her chest to see a ball of fur curled there. Puzzled, she tilts her head. A timid chuckle comes from her right, followed by voice saying, “He came with you.”

Her head snaps toward the sound and is met with a young woman. She’s delicate, lithe and petite, made more so by the way she holds her body. China doll eyes of jade stare wide eyed above high, cutting cheekbones. Jet hair is swept into a bun at the top of her head, loose fall into her face in stark contrast to her alabaster skin. Cecilia tilts her head,  _ Are those… pointed ears?  _ Remembering herself, the young woman dips into a deep cursys, lifting the hem of her simple dress slightly. “M-my lady. Forgive me.”

Cecilia sits up, the ball of fur falling to her lap, meowing in offense. _Colonel._ _That answers that question._ At the sudden movement, her ears ring and vision blurs. She feels faint. Closing her eyes, she wills it to recede. She opens them to see the young woman - _Elf. -_  looking at her in concern. Flashing a reassuring smile, Cecilia asks, “Where am I?”

Straightening, the woman replies, “T-the House of Alexius, my lady.”

Cecilia looks about the room. To the far end of the room, there is a large stone fireplace. The mantle above it is grey stone, born by two Corinthian columns. A blazing fire roars within it. Tapestries adorn the remaining walls, many depicting dragons and robed figures. One in particular shows an armed woman with hair flying as she leads an army. A wardrobe sits to the wall opposite her, proud and somber mahogany expertly carved with intricate embellishments to the doors. A desk lies to the right of it, propped on four dragons posed in snarling rage. Dark plush carpet lines the floor. Cecilia herself lies in a canopied, four poster bed. She strokes the duvet around her, marveling at the beauty of  midnight blue streaked with silver. Returning her gaze to her companion, she nods. “Yes. But where is that?”

Wary, the elf replies, “Minrathous, my lady.”

Cecilia opens her mouth to ask inquire further, but at the stricken expression on the young woman’s face, decides against it. Relieved, the elf states, “I was told to bring you to Master Alexius the moment you woke, my lady. Once you get dressed, I’ll lead you to him.”

_ It’s just a dream. Has to be. What harm could there be in playing along?  _ She nods in response. The elf exits the room, leaving Cecilia alone. Sighing, she picks up the black and white cat, burying her face in his fur. Colonel meows in disgruntlement. Putting him to the side and with a scratch of his ears, she swings her legs off the bed. Feet on the ground, she allows herself to wriggle her bare toes in the soft carpet. Stretching, she stands, her eyes catching movement across from her. Looking toward it, she sees a full length mirror- with her in it. She walks toward it, staring at her reflection. Her rose patterned sundress is gone, replaced by an ivory silk nightgown.  _ Who changed my clothes?  _ Where _ are my clothes?  _ Her hair is more wild than usual, curls turned frizzy overnight. They look like the differing layers of soil-- dark, light, and lighter still. Catching a strand, she twirls it about her finger. With a huff, she throws her hand down in frustration. Her near olive skin is lightly blemished with scattered acne. Thick eyebrows rest over grey blue eyes with the barest hint of green. Pink lips, mostly straight teeth, and nose a smidge bigger than she’d like. With a shake of her head, she leaves the mirror, heading towards the wardrobe. Opening the doors, she gasps at the array of clothes. Luxurious robes and dresses beckon from their hangers. Cecilia strokes the fabrics with a gossamer touch. After  short deliberation, she chooses a silk dress of royal blue. She undresses, nightgown pooling at her feet. In one motion, she slips the dress over head; the fabric is smooth against her skin. The bust is tightly fitted, ending in an empire waist belted with silver. Trumpet sleeves fall from her elbows. Bending to pick up the discarded nightgown, she deposits it on her bed, skirts flowing about her legs. She hears a knock on the door. From behind it, she hears, “Are you ready, my lady?”

“Yes! I’ll be right out!” Cecilia hastily calls, taming her hair into a thick plait. She opens the door, he guide to one side of the dimly lit hallway. 

The elf turns to her, curtsying while instructing, “This way, my lady.”

Cecilia follows her down the hallway, marveling at even more tapestries that line the walls. Sporadic flaming braziers cut through the darkness. They turn a corner. Stern oil faces stare down at them; men and women decked in finery follow their journey. At the end of the hall, the elven servant stops at gilded door. She knocks on it, opening after a reply that Cecilia can’t hear. They enter into a room smaller than the first, and much more unkempt.  Parchment litters the desk to the far side of the room. Heavy tomes are strewn about low lying tables next to bubbling concoctions of various shades. The walls are lined with bookcases bearing books of all subjects. A cabinet near the desk houses odd assorted objects and ingredients. Two men stand at one of the tables, head bent over an open book. They are muttering amongst themselves impatiently. Her guide clears her throat dipping into a low curtsy. “Your guest, my lord.”

The elder of the two straightens, and turns toward the two newcomers. He wears a robe of purple inlaid with gold and trimmed with fur. The sleeves drip from his wrists as he waves his hand in dismissal. Without a word, the elf leaves. Once she’s gone, the robed man turns to Cecilia, a smile on his face. Opening his arms, he greets, “Welcome to my home...?”

Apprehensively returning the smile, she answers, “Cecilia.”

The man nods. “Excellent. Welcome, Cecilia. I am Gereon Alexius, Magister of the Imperium.” he continues, gesturing to the young man behind him, “This is my apprentice.”

He’s broad shouldered, back straight with a confidence only known to those who have nothing to fear in this world. His  black hair is mussed, but only in the way that it takes several hours to comb. Malachite eyes, ringed by dark eyelashes, spark with curiosity. His mouth, set below an aristocratic nose, is poised in a small, arrogant smirk. At her gaze, he dips into a small bow with a flourish, announcing, “Dorian Pavus, at your service.”

Cecilia falls into an awkward curtsy, “Thank you?”

Alexius strides toward Cecilia, placing an arm on her shoulder and guiding her to sit on the chair in front of the desk. Once she is seated, he states, “My dear, I’m afraid that we have made quite the mistake.”

Cocking her head, she questions, “Mistake?”

The magister nods, patting her hands in comfort. “Yes, it seems we’ve taken you from where you belong.” he pauses, “...Where do you belong?”

“Where do I belong?”

“Where you come from.” Dorian supplies, leaning on the counter.

“Pennsylvania.” she responds, glancing from man to man in confusion when they share a look. 

Dorian sighs, then stands, inquiring, “Are you familiar with Thedas?”

_ What the hell is Thedas?  _ “The-das?”

“Yes.” A note of impatience in his voice.

Cecilia shakes her head. “No. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Thedas is the world you are currently in,” he explains. 

Her ears ring again. She closes her eyes briefly, then asks,“The world I’m currently in?”

Alexius intercedes, “What Dorian is trying to say is that we took you - accidentally- out of your own world, and into ours.”

Disbelieving, she whispers, “How?”

“With magic, of course,” Dorian retorts irritably.

Weakly, she denies “Magic doesn’t exist.”

“Really?” With that, his hand bursts into flame.  _ Alright. Maybe it does exist.  _ She takes a gulp of air. 

“Dorian, please. Control yourself.” Alexius scolds. The young magician? wizard? scowls and crosses his arms. Turning to her, the elder soothes, “I know it’s a lot to take in. We can explain more later. I’d wager you’re hungry, yes?”

Her stomach rumbles in agreement. Chuckling, he states, “Good. I will have Laputa escort you to the dining room. Laputa!”

The same elven servant from before enters the room and quickly curties. Alexius instructs, “Take her to the dining room and have Aris make her a meal.”

“Yes, my lord.” 

Alexius stands, pulling Cecilia with him. “Go, dear, follow her. We’ll speak later.”

Nodding, Cecilia moves to follow Laputa from the room. Again, she is led through the portrait hallway, then down another, following a labyrinth that doesn’t make her head any less dizzy. They stop at two large double doors which Laputa pushes open with ease. A long table sits in the middle of the room. Upon it are four candelabra spread equally along the surface, glittering candles in each. Laputa moves to pull out one of the many high backed chairs, gesturing for Cecilia to sit in it. As she sits, she stares around her. The room is dark; heavy red brocade curtains are drawn over what she assumes to be windows. Statues linger at the walls, severe in their eternal stone stares. Without her noticing, Laputa had exited and returned, bearing a steaming bowl of soup. She sets it down in front of Cecilia, setting  silverware beside the dish. The silver gleams in the candlelight. Cecilia eyes the soup, brown broth with vegetables and some sort of meat. Her stomach growls again. She shrugs and picks up the spoon, taking a spoonful.  _ It’s actually not bad. _ Finishing, she looks up and down the table. The center of this household is empty. 


	2. Speak Softly

At dawn, the glittering remnants of an ancient empire capture the rays of the sun. These remnants soar above the city below, beautiful gilded ivory towers that have stood the test of time and war. The rest of the city cowers in the shadows; decrepit buildings lie forlorn on every block, blurring into the jet stone that form their base - a cliff surrounded by the sea. There are people, so many people, littering the streets. Many stare vacantly ahead of them, others bustle from place to place, and merchants cry out their wares. The brisk sea air, accompanied by a sharp aftertaste of fish, mask the stench of waste. The docks and shipyards see the most activity, and from dawn til dusk are a flurry of moving bodies. A single bridge connects the city to the mainland, a small bridge easily destroyed in times of need, and just as easily repaired. Cecilia takes a deep breath as she follows Laputa into the markets of Minrathous. Her nose scrunches at the conflicting scents of spice, human waste, and the sea. She keeps closely to the elf in front of her as she weaves through the crowd. They come to a stop at a stall selling fruit. Laputa sifts through the fruit determinedly, inspecting each with care. The merchant, a dark haired human, puffs with pride, intent on his next sale. Cecilia herself studies the stall, surprised at the familiarity of some of the fruit. Apples, oranges, and others she knows sit among strangers of bright colors and myriad shapes. She reaches for an apple, the deepest red she’s ever seen, and hands the merchant a copper. Biting into it, the sweet juice fills her mouth, refreshing her. As she continues to eat her apple, she looks at Laputa, basket half full with fruit, as she  makes her way back to the merchant. The elf begins haggling with the man- they bicker for quite some time before Laputa comes away triumphant. Joining Cecilia, Laputa smiles and sticks a stray hair behind a pointed ear. Smiling, she says, “You didn’t have to come with me, milady. It’s dreadfully early.”

Cecilia throws the core of the apple away, replying, “No, I didn’t. But I couldn’t stand to be stuck in that house anymore.”

Laputa laughs. “You’ve only been there a week.”

Cecilia snorts. “Time is an illusion, Laputa.”

Laputa raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been spending too much time with Master Alexius.”

“Not really. It’s Dorian I spend most of my time with. Alexius is too busy doing whatever it is magisters do with their lives. I’m stuck listening to Dorian theorize.” Cecilia brushes a stray hair from her face.

A chuckle. “At least he’s pretty to look at.”

Cecilia stops, bracing a hand on Laputa’s arm. “Laputa, no. Don’t be fooled by his looks. He’s an arrogant prick who thinks he’s a gift to the world.”

“Most magisters are, milady. Though I have to say, as far as magisters go, Master Dorian is very kind. Master Alexius is too, for that matter.”

Derisively, Cecilia comments, “He hit poor little Kory for not putting enough sugar in his wife’s tea.”

Laputa nods seriously. “He shouldn't have. Kory has been making her tea for a while now.”

“Still, hitting a little boy for an honest mistake seems unnecessary.”

Laputa sighs. “I’m afraid you have no idea, milady.”

“You’re right. I’ve been very fortunate.” She frowns, “ I couldn’t imagine living as a slave.”

“I hope you never have to.”

“Me too.” Cecilia answers, linking arms with the young elf. Laputa stiffens, but does not pull away. The two continue through the markets, filling Laputa’s basket as they go. Near noon, Cecilia is perusing books in a small corner shop. Most sound sinister, boasting myriad spells and enchantment. She runs her hands along the spines, relishing the leather of the tomes. Her hand catches on a red-tinted spine emblazoned with _The Tevinter Imperium_ by one Ferdinand Genitivi. Flicking to the first page, she reads:

_The Imperium is little more than a dilapidated old slattern, crouching in the far north of Thedas, drunkenly cursing at the passerby to recall her faded beauty…_

“Ah, so you _do_ have good taste.” Cecilia jumps at the voice, dropping the book and whirling to her assailant.

Dorian stands before her, wearing a smile that would put the Chesire cat to shame. The young man bends to retrieve the text, standing and offering it to her pointedly. With a huff, she takes it, snapping, “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.”

Dorian bows, taking her hand and kissing it.. With a smirk, he drawls, “My humblest apologies, my lady.”

She snatches her hand away, rolling her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian gives an affronted look, gesturing around the shop. “I wasn’t aware I couldn’t visit a book shop.”

Grudgingly, she apologizes, “I’m sorry. Of course you can. Still, you haven’t answered my question.”

He gives her a mischievous grin, patting the stack of books under his arm. “Research.”

“Something tells me I’m not going to like this.” she groans.

“Probably not.” He responds cheerfully. She covers her face as they make their way to the shop owner. Dorian places his books on the counter, then wrestles her book from her grasp.

“I can buy that.” She protests, reaching for it.

He gives her a sidelong glance. “You’re using the money I gave you. Either way, I’m buying it.”

“It’s really the least you could do after you trapped me here.” She crosses her arms.

“Granted. Still, Brother Genitivi is a gift. Let me give him to you, even if a good portion of his works reside in Alexius’ library.” he states resolutely, giving the shopkeeper coin.

“Genitivi is a Brother?”

“Yes, in the…. other Chantry. You’ve heard of the Chantry, yes?”

Cecilia grabs the book, and hugging it close to her chest, retorts, “Yes, I know the Chantry.”

Satisfied, Dorian pats her head. “I’m glad you’ve retained _something_ of the lessons I’ve been giving.”

Pushing him away she bites out, “They’re not ‘lessons’! They’re barely veiled rants on how intelligent you _think_ you are.”

The mage clutches his chest, crying, “Oh! How you wound me, Cecilia!”

She bends her head over her book, muttering “Oh God” as she rushes from the store. Out on the street, she nearly bumps into someone. Raising her arms placatingly, she sputters, “I am _so_ sorry!”

A familiar chuckle greets her ears. “It’s quite alright, milady.”

Cecilia sighs in relief, “Oh, thank goodness, Laputa. Did you get all your shopping done?”

“Yes. Did you get what you needed?”

Cecilia glances over her shoulder. “Yes… and no.”

Dorian chooses that moment to exit the store, swaggering toward the pair, a shiteating grin on his face. Laputa bobs a quick curtsy, a quick “Master Dorian” spilling from her mouth. Dorian nods to her, smile becoming more gentle. “Laputa. Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

The elf blushes, turning her head. “Yes, milord.”

A bell tolls from the middle of the city, marking noon. Laputa jumps at the sound, a panicked look on her face. Eyes wide, she gasps, “I have to get these to Aris! She won’t be able to make Mistress’ lunch.”

“We’ll get there in time. Lady Lydia takes her lunch at half past. We can make it.” Cecilia reassures.

Dorian snickers, but it quickly chastised by Cecilia’s glare. “Let’s go!”

Laputa leads the charge, dashing through the crowd with Cecilia close behind. A ways down the street, passersby fling themselves to the side as a carriage careens down the road. It is black and silver, covered in rich brocade with silver plated wheels. Cecilia stops when a man abruptly shoves into her. She trips, but catches herself from falling. There’s a small cry from the middle of the road; her eyes follow the sound, lighting on a young boy who has fallen in the carriage’s path. With a shove her book in Laputa’s general direction, she pushes through the wave of bodies and to the boy, scooping him into her arms. The thundering of hooves gets closer, and she freezes; eyes closed against the impact.The boy whimpers against her chest.  _Please, whoever is listening..._ “Whoa!”

Horses whinny in fear, and hooves trample the ground. Cecilia opens her eyes. She finds herself eye to eye with a very annoyed thoroughbred. She smiles wanly at it. It throws its head in dismissal. She looks down at the boy in her arms, staring up at her with wide jewel blue eyes, terrified. She sets the boy down and crouches down to his level. Brushing the dirt from his clothes, she smiles, “What’s your name?”

Pointed ears burning red, he hangs his head, mumbling, “Jo..n..a…”

She tilts her head, gently probing, “What was that?”

The little one lifts his head, squaring his jaw. “Jonah, milady.”

Grasping his hands, she asks, “Are you alright, Jonah?”

“Y-Yes.”

Beaming, she gestures to the crowd, stock still at the scene. “Are you here with your mother, Jonah?”

“Yes, milady. She’s right there.” He points to a stricken elven woman wringing her hands across the road.

Cecilia ruffles his hair, then nudges him toward her. “Go to your mother. Don’t stray again, alright?”

Jonah nods, and runs towards his mother, who hugs him tightly. Cecilia stands, dusting off her skirts. Inside the carriage, there is grumbling as a footman opens the door. From it, an enraged man steps out. Cropped dark hair, peppered with salt, throws his features in stark relief. A hooked nose seems suited to the disdainfully curled lip it overlooks. He surveys the scene, eyes narrowing as they alight on the lone figure in the middle of the street. The man - _Magister-_ strides toward Cecilia, grey silk robes flaring. A red mantle fits over his shoulders, clasping at his neck with a silver dragon. A tall, wiry elf shadows him; one step to his right and two behind. Silver tattoos line his body, matching the short mop of hair on his head. His cheekbones are high and sharper than the knife at his back. Eyes the color of moss blankly observe the area, flicking back and forth. Cecilia clenches her jaw, a tense smile pasting itself to her face as they approach her. Cutting to the chase, he demands, “What is the meaning of this?”

Gritting her teeth, she replies, “Your carriage nearly killed a boy… my lord.”

Unimpressed, he responds, “I fail to see how that is grounds for tossing me about my carriage.”

“You don’t see how that’s…? A boy nearly died! That doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?” He sneers.

Throwing her arms in the air, she bursts out, “Yes, it should!”

“Why should I care for the life of a slave?”

“Listen, you son of a-”

Dorian jumps in and  restrains her, interrupting, “My lord Danarius. My apologies. Cecilia here is new to the Imperium.”

The three stand triangulate as silence reigns. Ages seem to pass as the senior mage stares down the interloper. Finally, Danarius arches an eyebrow. “You are… Halward’s boy, yes?”

Straightening, Dorian replies, “Yes, milord. Dorian Pavus.”

The magister’s eyes turn to ice as a muscle jumps in his jaw. “Tell me, Dorian, how are you acquainted with such an… enthusiastic… young lady?”

Dorian glances at Cecilia, who returns his stare evenly. “She is…  the niece of my master Alexius, my lord.”

The magister raises his eyebrows. “Niece?”

Dorian nods. “Yes. By his disgraced sister. The one who married the Orlesian.”

“Hnn. Yes, I remember her well. They do resemble each other...” he muses.

Dorian and Cecilia glance at each other. _Really, Dorian? Niece?_ Danarius seems to debate inwardly with himself before returning his attention to the two, speaking, “Very well. Dorian, you remind your master - and your father - of the fete I am holding at my estate next Saturday. He will bring his _niece._ Understood?”

Dorian swallows, “Yes, my lord.”

With that, the magister turns and, robes billowing, stalks to his carriage, accompanied by his elven shadow. The two invitees walk back to the side of the road, shellshocked. They barely register the carriage as it passes by. Once the carriage is gone, Dorian takes a deep breath and smiles. “Well, that went well!”

Cecilia stares at him incredulously. “In what world do you live in which that went well!?”

Dorian waves a hand in dismissal. “Please, that was nothing. I’m really just surprised there wasn’t lightning involved. There’s always lightning.” he clears his throat, “Anyway, Father and Alexius will be pleased; Danarius is a big deal.”

Cecilia scoffs, “I’m glad I could help.”

“I’ll take that as a thank you for saving your life. You’re welcome.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You know I don’t hear that as often as you would think?”

“Whatever. So… Who was that man behind Danarius? The one that was all glowy?”

Dorian grows serious. “ _That_ is his bodyguard, Fenris. The tattoos are made of lyrium. Danarius sank a fortune into that slave. It’s his greatest achievement, making those markings.”

Cecilia takes her book from Laputa, questioning, “That sounds really illegal.”

Dorian shrugs. “The act itself isn’t. The method? Probably. No one really cares, though.”

“How could you not care?”

“Power is paramount, here, duckling. You get it however you can.”

Cecilia huffs, “Don’t call me that. I’m older than you.” Taking a breath, she continues, “That seems extremely dangerous.”

The mage shoots her a wolfish grin over his shoulder. “Now you understand. Come, you only have two weeks to learn how to dance.”

 

 


	3. And Carry A Big Stick

“You did  _ what!? _ ” Alexius hisses, slamming his palms into his desk.

Taking a breath, Dorian replies, “Told Danarius that Cecilia was your niece.”

The magister seethes, staring down his apprentice. With a sheepish shrug, Dorian continues, “It was the only thing I could think of. Now, I know it might seem a disgrace to have a non mage in the family, but-”

Alexius interrupts, “What could possibly be the upside to that?”

Dorian smirks, “You’ve piqued interest. Specifically, Danarius’. His knowledge of lyrium is rivaled by none; he literally branded it into a living being. I think we need that knowledge, if we want to further our research.”

“Hmm… You may be right. But  _ you _ will be responsible for making her presentable. No niece of mine doesn’t know how to act in polite society. Even if she is  _ Orlesian _ .”

“You won’t be disappointed.” Dorian promises.

“We shall see.” With that, Alexius waves his hand in dismissal. 

Bowing, Dorian turns toward the door, beckoning Cecilia as he goes. She curtsies quickly, then follows the young mage. Once the door closes, he quips, “I told you he wouldn’t be mad!”

Raising an eyebrow, she remarks, “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”

Looking over his shoulder, Dorian responds, “Oh, because of that glare he was giving me? No, that’s just how he says ‘I love you’.”

“If that’s love, I wonder what hate looks like.”

“Just imagine fire. That’s a pretty good image of it.”

She chuckles, “If you say so.”

A few minutes later, the two arrive at a pair of double doors. Grinning mischievously, Dorian turns and instructs, “Close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you.”

Cecilia rolls her eyes, but acquiesces. The mage grabs her hands, guiding her through the door.  He lets go of her hands, and she stands expectantly. She hears the whoosh of - curtains?- then Dorian’s command, “Open.”

She opens her eyes to find herself in the middle of a grand library. Books lined the walls, floor to ceiling, of two stories. A staircase lays  directly in front of her, leading to the second floor. To her right, a large fireplace, surrounded by plush armchairs, beckons. Cecilia spins slowly in circles, taking in the sight of the library. Grinning, she stops in Dorian’s direction. “You were hiding this the entire time.”

He shrugs, “I didn’t think it was important.”

Walking toward him, she swats him on the arm. “You didn’t it was important!? What with me begging for more books to read everyday?”

“It slipped my mind.” he smirks.

“You are evil.” she mock glares.

“I try.” he replies. Becoming serious, says, “We have a lot to do in two weeks. You must learn how to act in polite society, if you’re going to come out of Danarius’ estate unscathed.”

Frowning, she realizes, “I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

Cheerfully, Dorian replies, “Yes. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine as long as you do as I say.”

Looking once again around the library, she thinks,  _ There’s no telling when I’ll be able to go home. I guess it’s either sink or swim at this point. _ Bracing her hands on her hips, she announces, “We’d better get started then, right?”

 

_ She hears her father’s laughter from deep within the house. And then there’s the piano, notes wafting through the air; weightless. She reaches, fingers empty as they fall into the sky. A drop of water on her neck. Rain. Tugging on her shirt. Fabric bunched in chubby fingers.  _ Tag, you’re it. _ Into the woods; brambles biting at knees. A clearing. Where did she go? Burning at her back. She turns. Yellow eyes gleam.  _

Cecilia blinks awake. Her neck is sore, and her face is plastered to parchment. Sitting up, she rubs her neck, glancing about the library. Moon beams float through the open window. Groaning, she looks at the mass of papers below her on the low lying table.  _ Maybe it was a mistake to tell Dorian that I could learn a language in two weeks.  _ It helps that Tevene resembles Latin. She may have taken French for eight years, but the patterns are still similar.  _ Thank you, romance languages. _ Still, it’s harder than she thought. Trying to cram 19 years of education into two weeks is impossible. She has to try, though. Otherwise...well, she’d rather not think of otherwise. Again, she massages her neck, standing from the ground and making her way to the window. She stares at the moon, just as bright and cratered as the one back home. She crosses her arms and sits in the cushioned seat of the bay window.  _ That dream…  _ It was the first she’d dreamt of home since she’d come to Thedas. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of it, because if she did, she might have a breakdown.  _ I missed Alana’s recital… _ Cecilia hugs herself tightly, willing the ache in her chest to leave. She needs to be strong if she wants to get home.  _ Dorian said Danarius may have knowledge that will help me get home, so I have to play nice.  _ Shaking her head, she stands, pushing herself to the small mound of books on and around the coffee table by the fireplace; home to a fire that has since dwindled to embers. She stokes the embers, fanning the small flames and placing a new log in them. Then she picks up  _ In Pursuit of Knowledge: Travels of a Chantry Scholar  _ from the pile of books behind her. She mutters, “Brother Genitivi strikes again.” 

She reads: “ _ To those outside of the Tevinter Imperium it is easy to imagine a society filled with mages  _ _ and elven _ _  slaves and little else. In truth, there are three different Tevinters, each of them a world completely separated from the others…” _

Hours later, the sun filtering through the same window that once held the moon, the doors to the library burst open. Startled, Cecilia looks up from her studying to see Dorian gliding through the door, fresh faced and smiling, shadowed by a gaggle of servants. The mage stops directly in front of her, frowning. “You look awful.”

Yawning, Cecilia replies, “You’d look awful too if you’d spent the majority of the last week in a library trying to retain information that anyone else would have had years to learn.”

Dorian purses his lips. “Doubtful. But I digress. Put down the books. You are going to bathe, and then we are going to do a little roleplaying.”

She stares at him blankly, taking a moment to register what he’s saying. Dorian, misunderstanding her hesitation, exclaims with a slight reddening of his cheeks, “No! Not  _ that  _ kind of role playing. Get your mind of out the gutter. You’re hardly my type.”

Finally catching up to what the young man is saying, Cecilia sputters, “That’s not what I-”

With a wave of his arms, Dorian cuts her off, “No time to discuss. Go with Jorina here to the baths. Once you’re clean, meet me here.”

Giving up, Cecilia stands and follows the wisp of a girl that comes forward when Dorian mentions her name. Surprisingly, the girl is human. Cecilia follows the girl through the labyrinth that is Alexius’ estate, one that hasn’t become any easier to navigate despite the three weeks Cecilia has lived here. They pass numerous rooms, and the kitchens, before stopping at a door that opens into what Cecilia assumes are the baths. There are high vaulted ceilings held aloft by columns that ring a deep stone pool. Stained glass windows allow light to to dapple the floor in different colors. Wordlessly, Jorina steps towards a roaring dragon’s head, pulling a lever beside it to let water fall from its gaping mouth into the pool.  As the pool fills, steam fills the air, and the servant pours salts and oils into the water.  Inhaling, Cecilia smells roses. Finished, Jorina returns to Cecilia, beginning to unlace her dress. Shyly, Cecilia undresses, stepping out of the dress and shuffles toward the bath, dipping a foot into the water.  _ Warm. _ She lowers herself into the water, pleased to find a ledge that allowed her to sit comfortably. Jorina brings a basket of soaps, placing them beside Cecilia at the edge of the pool. As the blonde girl stands to exit, Cecilia call, “Jorina?”

The girl turns, “Yes, milady?”

Cecilia regards the girl’s face, masked in concern. Thinking better of bothering her, Cecilia smiles, “Nevermind. Thank you for your help.”

“Alright, milady. I’ll be back within a half hour to help you.”

“Thank you.” 

Alone, Cecilia submerges under the water, kicking of the side of the pool toward the middle, wading for a bit before returning her previous position. She begins to peruse the contents of the basket, sniffing the various soaps. Satisfied with her choices, Cecilia washes her body, relishing the smoothness of her skin as the sweat and grime is washed away. Then, she lathers her hair, carefully pulling her fingers through knots. Thirty minutes pass in no time at all, marked by the return of Jorina bearing freshly folded clothes. Placing the clothes on a wooden bench, the servant offers Cecilia a plush towel. Drying herself, Cecilia reaches for the clothes. She dons each layer quickly, ending with a simple wine colored dress that flows effortlessly to the floor. At Jorina’s insistence, her hair is partially swept back by two gilded combs, leaving the rest to tumble freely down her back. The two exit, and on their return to the library, find Dorian orchestrating the servants he’d arrived with. Upon noticing their arrival, Dorian claps his hands and strides over to Cecilia, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her toward a middle aged servant, armed with measuring tape. Placing her directly in front of the seamstress, Dorian commands, “Stand still.” 

Immediately, the woman proceeds to measure every inch of Cecilia’s body, dictating measurements to her assistants as she goes. Once finished, Dorian waves her away, calling, “Use those to alter the dress I had delivered to you. We need it in three days.”

Whirling back toward Cecilia, Dorian finally takes a breath. “Alright. Now that you’re here, I have only one question. How is your dancing?”

Confused, Cecilia repeats, “My dancing?”

He reiterates, “Your dancing. It isn’t nearly as important here as it is in Orlais, but you still need to know how. Though honestly, high society gatherings are mostly gossip and conspiracy. And murder. No evening is complete without murder.”

At her horrified expression, Dorian laughs. After calming himself, he comments, “I don’t think I’ve seen a face like that since my mother learned news of Maevaris’ scandal.” 

Glaring, Cecilia huffs, “Well, any decent human being  _ would _ be horrified at the idea of murder.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that. It’s a sign of weakness.” he gives her a pitying look.

Cecilia opens her mouth to speak, but Dorian stops her, changing the subject. “Where was I? Right. Dancing. Come here.”

She shuffles closer to him, glancing up at him with a wary eye. He pulls her close, one hand on her hip, and the grasping her opposite hand. He places her free hand on his shoulder. From this close, she has to tilt her head back more than usual to maintain eye contact. He notes, with a shiteating grin, “I’d forgotten you were so short. You barely pass my shoulders.”

Glaring at him with hooded eyes and a set jaw, she silently dares the mage to keep pushing his luck. Dorian mockingly throws his hands in surrender, exclaiming, “That’s the exact look you should show the magisters; they’ll run from you with tails between their legs.”

“I thought Fereldans were the dog people?” she asks, a half smile tugging at a corner of her lips.

Somewhat impressed, Dorian replies, “That’s both clever and insulting. Well done.”

“I learned from the best.” she states with a wink. 

He replaces his hands to their former positions. Eyes sparkling, he asks, “Shall we dance?”

“Let’s.”

 

The carriage ride to Danarius’ estate is smooth, despite the erratic pace of her heart. She sits across from Alexius and his wife, who regards her kindly. Returning the gaze with a nervous smile, Cecilia brushes away an errant wisp of hair. She turns to the window, looking out over the moonwashed fields of endless green. The stars seem brighter than she’s ever seen them, mocking her from light years away. Resisting the urge to lick her rouged lips, she twists her hands in her lap, wishing she’d ignored Dorian’s suggestion of no gloves - her hands were clammy. An eternity later, Cecilia is stepping from the carriage with the help of a liveried footman. She gasps at the sheer size of the estate; it’s nearly double Alexius’, all soaring arches and sentinel dragons. Lifting her skirts, Cecilia follows her companions through a marble archway and into the main entrance. Before her lies a grand staircase with glistening banisters and marble stairs. To her right, her eyes are caught by crisp white and china blue. Snow white roses, resting daintily in a vase.  _ Elegant. Danarius has good taste.  _ Throughout the hall, men and women - presumably magisters- greet each other in a flurry of dark colors. Red, purple, silver, and the occasional blue form the majority, accompanied by the ever present black. Cecilia herself wears a graceful off-the-shoulder black gown, embroidered in gilded leaf that shimmers in the torchlight as she moves. Its simple silhouette is in stark contrast to the rigid angles and flowing veils of others in the room. Her unruly hair has been tamed into elegant twists atop her head; small gold coins are hidden throughout them , peeking out at the faintest illumination. Ahead of her, she hears a familiar boisterous laugh. Excusing herself from Alexius and his wife, she makes her way toward the laugh, exiting the main hall and entering a ballroom with mirrored walls. Weaving through the scattered guests, Cecilia reaches her destination. Relief settles over her as she sees Dorian entrenched in conversation with older mages. She sidles up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turns his head to her, and upon recognition, his eyes crinkle in welcome. Pulling her into the circle, Dorian waits until the current speaker finishes. At the lull in conversation, Dorian clears his throat, announcing in smooth Tevene, “Mother, Father. Lord Titus. May I present Lady Cecilia Baudier, of Orlais.”

Smoothing her face into a polite smile, Cecilia curtsies.  _ I understood most of that. Maybe it won’t be so bad.  _ The man directly in front of her steps forward and takes her hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it as he bows. Without skipping a beat, he adds in Orlesian, “It is an honor to meet you, my lady. I am Aurelian Titus.”

Likewise, she replies, “The honor is mine, my lord.”

The magister tilts his head inquisitively. “Your accent is quite unique. From where do you hail?”

“From a village just outside Val Fermin, Lord Titus.”

“Ah. I have never had the pleasure of going so far south. I hear it is quite beautiful.” 

Cecilia nods. “It is. Especially during spring.”

“I see. Well, I must take the time to visit one day.” he looks away to the sound of his name. Returning his attention to Cecilia, he says with a curt bow, “If you’ll excuse me. It was a pleasure.”

Silence falls over the group before Dorian’s mother, a beautiful woman with chestnut hair, introduces herself. Taking a sip of her wine, and passing it to her husband she intones,  turning the conversation to Common, “You’ll have to forgive Lord Titus. He was only recently admitted to the Magisterium. Though he may be an upstart, he is a good friend of the Archon.”

Dorian’s father cuts a sharp glance to his wife. “Careful, Aquinea. Titus is well connected. His ear extends far.”

Aquinea sniffs. “I see no sense in flocking to appease a man who until a month ago, no one had heard of. There hasn’t been a Titus in the Magisterium since the Black Age.” Her voice lowers, “He’s a fraud, Halward.”

The lord frowns, “Regardless, he has the Archon’s favor, and so should have ours.”

“Well, whatever you say, dear.” she replies with another sip of wine. Cecilia stares helplessly between the two, her polite smile still plastered to her face. She feels a small throb begin at her temples.  _ It’s going to be a long night.  _ She feels a hand at the small of her back. Dorian bends down to whisper in her ear, “Would you care to dance?”

Grateful, she nods. Excusing them from his parents, Dorian takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. As the next song starts, they move. Making sure they’ve left his parents’ earshot, Dorian apologizes, “Mother is terribly fond of drinking. And Father isn’t the best at handling her.”

Cecilia smiles. “She wasn’t so bad.”

Dorian shakes his head. “Yet. The key word is yet. Another glass of wine, only Andraste knows what she’d say.”

“And here I thought that Pavus Family Embarrassment was your title.” she teases.

He snorts. “It is. But I’ve been on much better behaviour as of late, so who knows how much longer I’ll have it.”

“Your father seems pleased, at least.”

“Yes, he is. I’m fulfilling his hopes and dreams.”

Cecilia raises an eyebrow. “Your enthusiasm is boundless, Dorian.”

“There’s nothing I want more than to be the man my father wants me to be.” he drawls. 

She laughs, “That’s the spirit!”

They dance through another song before Cecilia sees a man hovering behind Dorian’s shoulder, his face shadowed. As he steps into the light to tap Dorian on the shoulder, she realizes that it is their host, draped in black and red. Breaking from her, Dorian bows. She follows suit with a curtsy. With a bob of his head, Danarius asks, “May I cut in?”

Flashing Dorian a reassuring smile, Cecilia answers, “Yes, of course. How could I deny our gracious host?”

The magister smiles; it is not unlike a viper baring its fangs. He steps closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and her hand in his. Warily, Dorian backs away, slinking his way back into the crowd ringing the dancefloor. A moment later, in molten silver, Danarius says, “You look ravishing, my dear.”

“Thank you, my lord. You look well as well.”

He laughs. “I thank you. But I know well enough that I am past my prime. How do you find the festivities?”

“It’s the most fun I’ve had since I came to Tevinter.” she responds truthfully. 

“I am glad. Though the night has barely begun. I would hold on to that most until the night is done.”

“That sounds ominous, my lord.”

He lets loose a chuckle. “Orlais has the peril of the Game to keep its gentry busy. We put it to shame.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she comes to an abrupt halt. Dropping into a deep curtsy, she says, “If you’ll excuse me, I need something to drink.”

He bows just as deeply, a near mocking twist to his lips as he answers, “Of course.”

Cecilia turns and nearly runs into the silver ghost returning to his master's side. Murmuring a quick apology, she sidesteps the elf and leaves the room as quickly as her skirts will allow. She bursts into a poorly lit hallway, disturbing a couple embracing in a corner. Ignoring them, she continues on, striding out onto an open balcony a few paces on. Once there, she leans heavily on the balustrade, taking a breath of the cool night air.  _ What is wrong with you!? He said nothing Dorian hasn’t said before. Now he’s going to think you can’t handle Tevinter. Stupid….  _ With an angry puff escaping her, she looks toward the sky. She can finally see the moon, and she smiles to the man within in it. Shaking her head, she scolds, “You know, it would have been nice if you had warned me? For all the years we’ve been friends, you’d think you would.”

The moon, of course, doesn’t reply. Continuing on, she says, “I hear there’s two of you here. How does that feel?”

“Awful. I couldn’t imagine there being two of me.” 

Cecilia jumps, and turns to see a young man in green robes grinning sheepishly at her. He holds his arms up in surrender. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m guessing you weren’t talking to me.”

Embarrassed, she shakes her head. “No.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a relief.” he joins her at the balustrade. “Who were you talking to?”

She shifts uncomfortably for a moment before pointing up. “The moon. Manny. I know it’s weird, but I can’t help but feel that he looks after me.”

He dismisses the thought with a wave of his hand. “It’s not really. I’ve seen weirder.” he pauses then continues, “My name is Felix, by the way. I don’t know what my parents have told you about me, but I thought I’d formally introduce myself.”

Wryly she replies, “That would be helpful, considering we’re meant to be cousins. I’m Cecilia.”

He holds out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“To you as well.” she shakes his hand. Caught by the absurdity of the moment, she laughs until tears come to her eyes. At his concerned look, Cecilia explains, “I’m just laughing at the mess I’ve found myself in. A world away from home and caught between a war and magisters who are all out for each other.”

His mouth quirks up in a half smile. “Welcome to Tevinter.”

Deadpan, she replies, “Thanks. I feel oh so welcome.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, staring at the moon. A few moments later, Cecilia asks, “How did you get here?”

“By carriage. I was at a tutor’s and stayed much later than I ought to have. Otherwise, I would have accompanied you and my parents.”

“You spend a lot of time being tutored. I think I’ve only seen you in passing for the last two weeks.”

“Yes. If I barely qualify as a mage, I might as well work hard studying other subjects. I’m particularly fond of mathematics.” There’s a small hint of pride in his voice.

She smiles warmly. “Your father was telling me about that. Lucky you, I can’t make heads or tails of math most of the time.”

Surprised, he asks, “Father told you? Really? Grandfather says I’m barely more than a Soporati.”

“Yes. It’s obvious how much your father cares for you. I wouldn’t listen to your grandfather if I were you. Magic isn’t everything. I’ve known plenty of great people who couldn’t do magic.”

“You weren’t born in Tevinter.” he accuses. 

“No,” she acquiesces, “But, contrary to popular belief, Tevinter isn’t the center of the universe.”

Felix chuckles. “Some of the people here tonight would die if you said that to their faces.”

“I have no doubt.” She pauses then asks, “How did you find me?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, straightening in remembrance. “I almost forgot. Father sent me to follow you, to ask what happened during your dance with our host.”

With a grimace, Cecilia turns and braces herself on the ballister so that she is facing the mansion. “He didn’t say anything inappropriate. In fact, he was a gentleman. But he was almost too perfect. Like a cat playing with its prey.”

Felix nods. “That’s a common feeling in the Magisterium. Still, Danarius is a powerful magister. He’s also arguably one of the most intelligent. And you seem to have caught his attention, so it’s best to stay on his good side.”

Cecilia groans, “Why me?”

“Because you had the gall to scold him for nearly killing a slave.” he says, amused. 

“Being a decent person is hardly an achievement.”

“Decency is relative.”

“It really isn’t.” she rebuts. 

“You’re right. But that mentality isn’t going to change overnight. In the meantime, you should get back to the party. Father will have a conniption if you stay away any longer.”

She nods and, smoothing out her dress, returns inside with Felix at her heels. The party is the same as she had left it; small clusters of people stand embroiled in gossip and debate. Cecilia grabs a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing servant. After taking a sip, she enters the fray. With every step, she feels more eyes following her. Upon joining her companions, she is surprised to see that they are conversing with Danarius. Catching Fenris’ eye, she gives a slight nod in greeting. She doesn’t look to see if it is reciprocated as she enters the loose circle the group makes. She hears the tail end of Aquinea’s question, “...that bad, is it?”

Danarius nods. “Yes, I’ll be shipping off to Seheron within the week.”

Halward grunts in affirmation. “There was news just last week of another attack, barely five miles outside the city. The casualties were immense.”

“Who were the fighters?” Felix pipes up.

“The reports weren’t clear. It could have been the Fog Warriors, or the Ben-Hassrath,” Alexius cuts in. 

Danarius continues, “Regardless, it’s imperative that they are stopped at once. Losing Seheron would be unacceptable. We need the port.” 

Sounds of agreement come ripple through the group. Cecilia just listens as the rest of the conversation follows the intricacies of the politics of the Magisterium; she knows she can’t contribute. Every so often, Dorian will shoot her a glance or a yawn, and it takes all she has not to laugh, Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she catches movement along with the flash of steel. The response is instantaneous. Fenris lunges behind his master, a blue blur as he meets the assailant. When he materializes, his arm is elbow deep inside the assassin’s chest. In a harsh motion, the elf rips the man’s heart from his body. It crumples to the floor. The entire ballroom is awash in stupefied silence. Fenris drops the heart and shakes the blood from his hand. As he returns to Danarius’ side, whispers fill the silence. Cecilia feels a touch to her shoulder, and looking at Felix, she realizes her mouth is wide open in shock. Closing it, she tunes into what the magister is saying. “...Yes, my little wolf is quite talented.” 

At the smugness  in his tone, bile rises to her throat.  _ To talk like that about someone who just saved your life… _ She looks at Fenris. He  looks steadily ahead, emerald eyes blank.  _ You wouldn’t even know that he’d just killed a man…  _ The rest of the night is over in the blink of an eye, passing hours only marked by the gradual decline of people in attendance. Dorian and his family leave before her and the Alexius clan. She sends them off in vestibule as she waits for Alexius, his wife, and Felix. As she turns from the door, Danarius walks through the archway from the ballroom. She starts, and stepping backwards, knocks over the vase of roses to the right of her. The crash as it breaks echoes through the grand hall. Panicking, she falls to her knees in an effort to pick up pieces of broken sky. Feeling the magister’s gaze on her, she abandons the task, and standing, begins to ramble out an apology. “I am so so so  _ so  _ sorry _.  _ I can pay you back _ …” _

At the raise of his hand, she stops. Seriously, he states, “That vase was commissioned by my great-grandmother. It is a priceless family heirloom.”

Cecilia opens her mouth to speak, only to close it again at his sharp glare.  He continues, “Putting a price on such an object is impossible. Nevertheless, I will require payment.”

“Of course. Anything.”

The magister stalks closer to her. “You will accompany me to Seheron. I am told of you are a quick study in language and are trained in the study of people. You will learn the language and culture of the Qunari, and you will use this information to help Tevinter.”

_ I did tell Alexius that I went to university for Anthropology. Damn it. I saw that thing when I came in, too. It might as well have had a flashing neon arrow over it. Shit.  _ Calming herself, she asks, “And if I refuse?”

“You did say anything.”

“Fair enough.”  _ Risking my life in Seheron doesn’t seem to line up with breaking a vase. Unless… he knows, or suspects that I’m not from here? Is that even possible? _

Alexius and his family walk through the door. He demands, “What’s going on here?”

Smoothly, Danarius replies, “I was just asking your niece if she would lend me her linguistic and cultural expertise during my time in Seheron. With your permission, of course.”

Alexius raises a brow as he remarks, “Seheron is dangerous.”

“She would be kept quite safe. I will have a company with me that will guard her.”

Her “uncle” regards her for a moment. Seeming to come to a decision, he nods. “Very well. If she consents, I see no reason she shouldn’t go.”

Danarius looks to her expectantly. With an inward sigh, she replies, “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Excellent!” he exclaims. “Meet me at the docks - at noon - in three days time.”

Before she can reply, he whisks her cloak from the servant bringing it to her, and drapes it around her shoulders. Staring into her eyes, he states, “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, dear. Smile.”

Uncomfortably, she does. It is only after they have been in the carriage for a while that the enormity of what she had agreed to hits her. She looks out the window. The moon, of course, looks down on her in silence.  _ Oh Manny, what did I get myself into?    _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I'm incredibly sorry this chapter took so long to post. Between school and work, I didn't have as much time to write as I hoped. I hope you enjoy it though, and I'll try to get the next one up in a more timely manner!  
> Thanks!  
> Devanie

**Author's Note:**

> This is also my first Dragon Age fic, so any constructive criticism would be absolutely lovely! Thanks for making it this far!


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